


never gonna learn, learn, learn.

by gopuckurself



Series: dtcfdp [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Caning, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage, Sadism, domjolras, subtaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 20:01:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17710634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gopuckurself/pseuds/gopuckurself
Summary: It’s almost 4:30 in the morning and Grantaire finds a message in his inbox from Enjolras that only saysHow do you feel about ruined orgasms?, and nothing else. Sent at 3:39. It's way too fucking early for that kind of question.





	never gonna learn, learn, learn.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Panic! At the Disco's "Crazy=Genius" because all my other WIPs related to this one had accidentally been named with Panic! lyrics and this one was called 'hit me baby (one more time)'
> 
> Just a warm-up that got out of hand, no beta we die like men

It’s almost 4:30 in the morning and Grantaire finds a message in his inbox that only says _How do you feel about ruined orgasms?_ , and nothing else. Sent at 3:39. Without even a signature. He’s not sure when he and Enjolras decided to forego signing their messages, but it’s been a long time since he can remember seeing or signing one himself. But more importantly, it’s way too fucking early and he’s running on way too little sleep to properly answer a question like that. Still, he rolls onto his back and rubs the bleariness from his eyes, waiting until he only sees one set of letters on the keypad to type out a reply. 

_I mean, frankly, I prefer good old fashioned orgasms. Lots of them, actually. As do most people, I believe. Do you ever sleep? What are you doing up at this hour?_

It’s less than two minutes before his phone buzzes once to let him know Enjolras is still awake, somehow, and has answered him. _How convenient. I do remember you mentioning something about liking the idea of overstimulation. Perhaps I’ll make you regret your phrasing of ‘lots’ of old fashioned orgasms as well. But you know that’s not what I was asking, unless that’s just a smart ass way of telling me ruined your orgasms is a hard limit. Or perhaps you’re just asking for trouble?_ He laughs despite himself when another message comes through, shortly following the first. _I do sleep. Dare I ask what you are doing up at this hour? Thinking of me, I hope._

 _Not red._ Grantaire types back. _It’s hot in a terrifying kind of way. You know me._

There’s a longer pause between messages this time, and Grantaire starts to drift off in the meantime, thinking the conversation over for the time being. But then another appears, again only a single line, and the succinctness of the message juxtaposed with the time Enjolras presumably spent writing it tells R that Enjolras is uncertain how he’ll respond to whatever idea he’s got.

_I’d like to make a rule, for our next scene, that you aren’t allowed to speak, but I want to do it without gagging you._

Well. Okay. That seems innocuous enough, but Grantaire is fairly certain that’s not all there is to it. Enjolras has been known to test Grantaire’s self-control, pushing him right to the edge of its limits just to pull him back before he tips over. Very on theme with the ruined orgasms thing, if he thinks about it. But usually it’s more along the lines of keeping his hands to himself rather than keeping his mouth shut. Though he isn’t very good at either.

_Okay. No talking except to safe word, then?_

Another long pause. But this time Grantaire finds himself wide awake. He’s not sure where this conversation is going, and his curiosity is more than a little piqued. He doesn’t think Enjolras would ever ask too much of him, in a scene, and there’s not much he can think of that he would refuse Enjolras. Then again, when it comes to kink, Enjolras tends to have a far more creative imagination. He checks the time on his phone again and is just wondering if a too-early-in-the-fucking-morning snack is worth it or not when Enjolras replies. He’s waiting for it this time, laying on his back and playing some stupid physics game with his phone only a few inches away from his nose when the notification pops up.

_Correct. No talking except to safeword, or to ask me to stop touching you._

A very specific addition to Grantaire’s previous statement. He has the very specific sensation of playing directly into Enjolras’ hands, but can’t help it. As if on cue, he’s sure, he asks _why would I ask you to stop?_ Because it’s clear that Enjolras is making a distinction there, he’s not implying that he’s going to make Grantaire use their redyellowgreen safety net, he’s implying something else and it’s probably looking him right in the face. But he can’t see it, just as much as he can’t see the alarm clock on the other side of the room.

_Well, just because you’re not allowed to come without permission doesn’t mean I have to keep my hands to myself._

“Christ.” Grantaire mutters to his ceiling.

_I can touch you as much as I like, of course. So it’s up to you: you could come, and risk facing the repercussions, or if you’re good (and I know you are) you’re going to ask me to stop. Because you want to follow the rules, don’t you? Even if it means denying yourself. Even if it means pushing yourself right to the edge over and over again until there’s tears in your eyes, all just because I want you too. And you would still ask me to stop. You’d beg me to stop. You’d do anything I asked of you. Isn’t that right?_

Grantaire breathes out a “yes,” even though there’s no one around to hear it but himself, because it’s true. He’d do anything for Enjolras, and not just in these terms. Still. His cock is taking interest now and he has to readjust himself under his blankets. Fuck Enjolras for giving him a hard-on at this hour. He should be sleeping. Now he’s got these ideas in his head… He replies with _Where do the ruined orgasms come in?_ Which is not really a deflection, but it is decidedly not an answer either, which is probably far more telling than if he had really changed the subject. It’s the kind of thing that if he’d done it in person would have made Enjolras grin at him like he’d won something. He’d caught onto all of Grantaire’s little verbal tricks quick. Quicker than most people.

_Originally my plan was to make you ruin it yourself if you started to get greedy. A kind of punishment. Denying yourself pleasure because it brings me pleasure is the name of the game, and you know how much I enjoy testing the limits of your obedience. But now I think I much prefer the idea of teasing you all night. Maybe I won’t let you come at all. Maybe I’ll put a cock ring on you and fuck you into the mattress until you beg me to stop. Maybe I won’t stop (unless you safeword, of course) because I’m just cruel and like to set up games you can’t win. It’s just so terribly sweet to watch you try._

Grantaire has to take a deep breath after that, dizzy from the thrill it gives him. It’s hilarious how, now that Enjolras has apparently gotten started, the longer messages keep coming in faster than the previous ones had been. He replies _Lengthy name for a game. Terrible marketing_ and wonders if this is making Enjolras’ briefs feel as tight as his (which reminds him that he doesn’t know what Enjolras wears to sleep when Grantaire isn’t around, and that’s only if Enjolras is still in bed, which Grantaire seriously doubts). He tries to picture him, laying in his own bed like Grantaire is right now, and comes up with thousand of various scenarios: Enjolras, in bed, lazily stroking himself between messages; Enjolras, replying at his computer, his work open in one window and his messages in another, as if having this kind of conversation is so commonplace it’s almost boring; Enjolras, smiling into his coffee at all of Grantaire’s awful jokes; Enjolras, telling him to touch himself and laughing when he makes Grantaire stop; Enjolras—

He’s stopped by another buzz, interrupting the quick series of images going through his head and stilling the hand that’s not so subtly found its way into his boxers.

_Yet you keep playing. When will you learn, I can always put you on your knees._

Grantaire has to put his phone down for a minute after that one, because real people _don’t talk like that._ Yet here he is, making plans to indulge in all kinds of hedonism with someone like Enjolras, who is very much real. Christ. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this. He fumbles for a reply, staring up at the ceiling and trying to come up with words that create full sentences. He’s decided to blame it on all the blood in his head rushing quickly further _down_ , and picks up his phone to express this to Enjolras, when he discovers a new message there waiting for him.

 _Personally, I’ve been particularly fond of the idea of beating the tops of your thighs lately._ It reads, Enjolras carrying on with the conversation entirely on his own. _I think that would really make you squirm. You’d have to keep still anyway, of course, lest some other important organ get in the way, but you’re a good boy. You can take it. I just love the way my canes stripe you up, and I want to see your face while I’m doing it. Teasing you is almost as fun as hurting you, after all. It’ll help keep you in check, too, beating you between edging you. I just can’t decide what cane to use. A thicker one and a quick futo would leave such pretty bruises. But I know how much you like the stingier ones._

That’s so not fair. Grantaire can’t focus on one image long enough to hold onto it, not now that he’s begun stroking himself in earnest, shameless in the privacy of his own bedroom, wiggling out of his briefs. He’s as familiar with the hurt at this point as he is with Enjolras hurting him. The way the thin canes makes his eyes water, and lingers. The way the thicker ones thud and the feeling seems to reverberate in his bones. Even the thought makes his breathing shaky and uneven. It says something about him that getting beaten is the thing that turns him on most, probably, there’s a lot to unpack there but he’s perfectly content not to think about it, then his phone buzzes again and he reaches for it blindly with his free hand to read it.

_Do you think this will be the time I finally manage to make you cry?_

Grantaire bites down on a strangled sound, nearly coming right then and there. He forces himself to slow down, long slow strokes when he’d much prefer the quick ones, then pulls his hand away entirely, despite the fact that his body absolutely hates him for it, want making his toes curl. A bit of practice for Enjolras’s plan. He holds his breath, suspended in that moment of desperation without anything to tip him over. If anything were going to drive him to tears… Without anything (or anyone) to keep him accountable, though, his resolve quickly crumbles, and he finishes himself off in a matter of two strokes before he loses it entirely.

He fumbles for something to clean himself up with, blinking until he catches his breath again, and stares at the ceiling, simply letting the heaviness of post-orgasmic haze settle into his limbs. It hadn’t been entirely intentional, but that didn’t mean he was going to fucking enjoy it. And there’s nothing like jerking off right around the sun starts to rise to help yourself go back to sleep. In fact, he’s doing just that, when his phone buzzes him awake and he remembers he’d never answered Enjolras back. When he opens it, he nearly chokes.

_Who told you that you were allowed to touch yourself?_

Adrenaline and confusion hit him hard enough to knock the lethargy from his bones in the split second his brain takes to comprehend the message. The split second after that one has him laughing so hard his eyes begin to water.

_How did you know I didn’t just fall asleep, you asshole?_

He can almost see Enjolras’ smile, that mix between sheepish and smug that he gets when he knows Grantaire is starting to see through all his fancy little Dom tricks. He’s learning Enjolras, just like Enjolras is learning him. In fact, Enj has said that he likes that about Grantaire. He’s not too reluctant to call Enjolras out, even at risk of breaching the realism of the fantasy. Grantaire likes that he likes that about Grantaire, because sometimes it’s impossible not to laugh at these things.

_Oh, I didn’t. But I figured it was either one or the other, and you confirmed it yourself. Lucky guess?_

He tries to imagine how different this conversation would be if it were happening after a few more hours of sleep, when he hasn’t actually been touching himself. Enjolras knows him well enough by now, it was probably more than just a lucky guess.

_I didn’t know I was required to ask permission._

_You are now, but only if you’re amenable to the idea._

_I’m not sure ‘amenable’ is the word I would choose._

_Yes or no, Grantaire. Green or red would also suffice. Are you or are you not comfortable with asking permission to touch yourself until our next scene?_

_Green. Though that leads me to a similarly important question. When is this scene you’re planning?_

He scrolls through his calendar as he waits, not that he actually programs any of his appointments into his phone, but look at the little squares often helps him remember what days he’s got plans and what days he doesn’t. 

_Did I not open with that?_

Grantaire laughs.

_No, I believe you opened with ruined orgasms. I’m free next weekend._

_Perfect. Now, go to sleep._

_Little late for that._

_Do as I tell you._

Grantaire imagines Enjolras, rolling his eyes at the ceiling and smiling as he types that familiar reply, _do as I tell you_ , wherever he may be, and he falls asleep thinking that maybe he knows Enjolras pretty well by now too. 

  


* * *

  


A week and a half later, Grantaire has to pause in the doorway to Enjolras’ living room to admire the sight in front of him. Enjolras is always beautiful. He knew that. But here’s the thing, he didn’t know that Enjolras owned _reading glasses_. There’s still plenty of him left to learn. Like how, somehow, he’s able to be completely in command of the room in sweatpants and socks and a pair of _reading glasses_. R finds himself wondering again, as always, if this is something that comes naturally to Enjolras or if it’s something that’s come to him from years of practice. He watches Enj tap a pen against his lips and arch an eyebrow at him, making his heart do those funny little somersaults it always does, before he catches up with what the expression means. “Are you going to come here, or are you planning to stand there all night?”

Grantaire straightens, half a sound out of his mouth to explain himself before he remembers the rules he agreed to, and moves to cross the room instead. Enjolras, who is watching for this moment in particular, smiles, pleased. Then he stops Grantaire with a vague gesture.

“Clothes.” He says, simply, and tosses a pillow down by his feet while Grantaire tugs his shirt over his head and leaves it and the rest of his clothing on the nearest chair. “Briefs can stay. Get comfortable.” He doesn’t even close his book as he watches Grantaire sink carefully to his knees. He eyes Grantaire, who looks back at him with hesitation, unsure what to do with himself until Enjolras tugs his head into his lap and Grantaire gets the hint. He shifts until he’s draped comfortably over Enjolras’ knees, pillowing his head with his arms crossed in Enjolras’ lap. It’s not a position that will be very kind to his back for very long, but it’s one he can sustain for at least a little while without many problems, so that’s the plan. He settles in.

Enjolras cards a hand through his hair and murmurs a quiet praise before returning to his reading. It’s an awfully gentle way to start the scene, and Grantaire knows that’s the point, easing him into the warm calm of the right headspace instead of toying with the rush of putting him under, the same difference between stepping into a warm shower and ducking his head into ice water. Each has their uses and merits, he supposes. But this is harder, the buzz of his thoughts don’t cut off so easily. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on the feeling of Enjolras’ fingernails dragging lightly across his scalp, but it’s not enough, and he doesn’t know how to ask for something more with breaking the rules.

Enjolras turns his page before he looks down at Grantaire when he lifts his head, and apparently gets the message, smoothing the frustrated wrinkle between R’s eyebrows with his thumb. “I know, sweetheart. I know it’s more difficult this way. But I know you can do it.” He tilts Grantaire’s head back with a finger under his chin, not allowing him to drop his gaze the way he always wants to when Enjolras clearly has more faith in him than Grantaire has in himself. “I know you can do it, because you want to please me, don’t you?”

Grantaire has to swallow, mouth suddenly dry, and the way Enjolras smiles when he nods is practically devilish.

“I know you do. And what pleases me, right now, is touching you as sweetly as I like, because I’m going to be terribly mean to you before the night is through.”

He lets Grantaire drop his head again, hand returning to his hair when R presses a kiss to his thigh.

“You take the pain so well, Grantaire. So perfectly and lovely. I want you to learn to take my kindness just as well as you take some cruelty.”

It’s probably a strange and twisted game they’re playing, but the praise still warms something deep in his chest, and he’s too focused on Enjolras’s hand in his hair to psychoanalyze himself at the moment.

“Any objections? No? I didn’t think so.”

Grantaire has to tilt his head to give Enjolras the side-eyeing look that comment deserves, and he catches Enjolras smiling even though his attention is back on the book in his hands. Grantaire smiles too, and lets himself relax a little bit more. After a moment, Enjolras begins to read aloud, quietly, just enough to lull R almost to sleep. He very nearly does just that, until he realizes that Enjolras is reading…a murder mystery?

“Yes, Grantaire, I’m aware that it’s fiction, thank you. Combeferre suggested that I…branch out a little and read something for the enjoyment of it, and he promised to read all of my emails on the matter, you can shut up now.”

“I didn’t even say anything.” Grantaire says, but he’s laughing.

“No, you didn’t. Because that’s against the rules.”

Suddenly Enjolras has set the book aside, and his fingers are rough on Grantaire’s jaw, tilting his head back, unyielding. Grantaire swallows, and Enjolras must feel his throat move beneath his fingers because he smiles, tipping Grantaire’s head even further back, his other hand pushing Grantaire’s chest. He moves with him until R’s back is pressed against the floor, naturally unfolding from kneeling to lay flat on his back, Enjolras crouched over him. 

“Stay.” He says, and grins when it makes Grantaire shiver. “Good boy.”

He disappears from Grantaire’s field of view for a moment, and returns with rope in his hands. Grantaire is silently thankful it’s the familiar red jute—not coconut—because the coconut always means he’s in for a world of hurt he couldn’t possibly imagine. Not that he isn’t in for a world of hurt, now, but now he knows what’s coming to him.

“Knees up.” Enjolras says, tapping Grantaire’s knees when he does as he’s told. “Hands above your head.”

Grantaire watches him untie a bundle of rope with his teeth, which he does not out of necessity but entirely because Grantaire had once told him in passing that it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, and Grantaire knows it. Enjolras winks for good measure. It takes all of Grantaire’s willpower not to roll his eyes, and he opts to close them instead, feeling Enjolras loop the rope around his ankle and push his leg into position until his heel nearly touches the back of his thigh. He doesn’t rush, but he makes quick work of tying both of Grantaire’s legs, never breaking physical contact with Grantaire until he stands up to admire his handiwork.

He knows the name for the tie. _Futomomo._ He technically knows how to tie it himself, too, but there’s something very different about being tied by Enjolras.

Through a bit of maneuvering, Enjolras helps Grantaire kneel up again without the use of his legs, and perches on the arm of the couch to smile at Grantaire for a moment. 

“You always look so good in my rope, Grantaire. One of these days I’m going to talk you into letting me photograph you.” He says, tilting his head. “Red suits you more than you think. Not nearly as much as a bit of bruising does though…”

Grantaire’s heart does some acrobatics inside of his rib cage, and the light in the room seems to sharpen, somehow, no longer the soft glow of a lamp and evening light but something a little more intense. Naturally, this is when Enjolras produces a cane from where he’s hidden it behind a throw pillow. He holds it loosely in his hand, letting it hang between the two of them, watching Grantaire watching him. It takes effort for Grantaire to lift his gaze from the thick rattan back to Enjolras’ face.

“As you know I was having a hard time deciding which one to use on you tonight, but I think this one will do nicely. Thick enough to bruise, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t wait for R’s reply before he stands up, retrieving Grantaire’s shirt from where he’d left it and pressing it into his hands.

“I don’t want to tie your hands tonight, Grantaire, but I need to be sure they’re safely out of the way. Hold this behind your back, please. Do not drop it.” He’s still smiling as he comes back around to Grantaire’s front, and he taps the cane lightly to the inside of Grantaire’s thighs. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

There’s a heat that creeps up the back of Grantaire’s neck when he does, even with one last layer of clothes on, this position is terribly vulnerable. He’s highly aware of it when Enjolras crouches to his level, running his free hand up the inside of Grantaire’s thighs, skipping his cock altogether to play with one of his nipples, watching his face for a reaction. Grantaire sucks in a breath through his teeth, resolutely ignoring the way even Enjolras’s gentle teasing makes his cock twitch.

“Well. Let’s get warmed up, shall we?”

Enjolras cards his fingers through Grantaire’s hair, moving to one side and kissing his way down R’s throat. Then before Grantaire can even think to process it, he taps the cane lightly up and down his thigh, between the bands of rope, and they’ve begun. It isn’t hard enough to hurt. Yet. It’s not much more than a light thud, but it’s enough to raise heat in the skin and also pique the interest of Grantaire’s cock.

That’s what he gets for fucking a sadist, he supposes. Pavlovian response.

“Eyes on me.” Enjolras says, and the moment Grantaire looks up, he snaps the cane down, hard, just enough that neither of them have to look down to know that it’s already leaving the beginning of a red welt.

Grantaire bites down on the beginning of a curse word, stomach tightening, and fights not to curl in on himself in response to the pain. He closes his eyes, then opens them again, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. Then Enjolras begins again.

“I wasn’t going to start with this, originally.” He says, conversationally, as he continues marking his way up Grantaire’s thighs, alternating between light taps and harder snaps, apparently filling the space in-between the sounds of the cane with the sounds of his voice. “But you’re just too damn tempting. I love marking you up. How could I resist, when I had you kneeling here for me, ready and waiting to give me this? I can hear your breath hitch when I lift the cane for one really good strike…”

This time when the cane hits, Grantaire can’t help but let out a strangled sort of whimper, and Enjolras clearly relishes in it.

“And you like it almost as much as I do, don’t you?” He traces the tip of the cane along the line of the erection now tenting Grantaire’s briefs, laughing. “Look at you, my sweet baby masochist. I suppose I’m teaching you pretty well. I’m lucky I got my hands on you before anyone else did.”

Ding, ding, ding. Heat settles low and warm in the pit of his stomach. 

Enjolras moves to kneel behind Grantaire, abandoning the cane for the moment to touch him with both hands, one fisting in his hair and the other slipping below his waistband to touch him, setting an agonizingly slow pace. He tilts Grantaire’s head to the side to bite and suck a mark on his throat, making him arch and press back into Enjolras’ grip. He stops only long enough to spit into his hand before resuming the task, not once increasing his speed, until Grantaire lets out a frustrated moan.

“Is there something you wanted to say?” Enjolras asks, stilling his hand just to swirl his thumb around the head of R’s cock, smearing precome and making him whine. “Hm?”

Grantaire shakes his head, and Enjolras strokes him faster in reward, kissing his jaw again. Pressed up against Enjolras like this, he can feel Enjolras’ own hard-on pressing into his back, and it only serves to make Grantaire feel even needier.

“Fuck, Enjolras, please.” He says, quickly, voice thick and heavy, before he can think long enough to stop himself.

“Please what, darling?”

“Fuck.” Grantaire says, because it’s so much harder to ask for the opposite of what he wants than he could have possibly imagined. “Fuck. Please stop.” 

Enjolras’s hand stills the instant he asks for it, and Grantaire swears again, squeezing his eyes shut even as his hips twitch of their own accord. “Aw, you want me to stop? Already? But we were having so much fun.” He can hear the laughter in Enjolras’ voice, even affecting a pout, and can feel his smile against his shoulder. “Well, if that’s really what you want…”

Grantaire nearly chokes on a whine when Enjolras steps away from him, retrieving the cane again, desperate in all the wrong ways.

“I don’t mind.” Enjolras hums, rearranging again to resume caning Grantaire’s thighs. “I’ve still got the other leg to mark up. And, I have the sneaking suspicion that you might be cheating, asking me to stop so early, and that simply won’t do. I think you can take it a little bit harder. What do you think? You can actually answer that question, by the way.”

When he opens his mouth, the cane snaps back down onto the top of his thigh, and he jerks in surprise.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.” Enjolras says, though he doesn’t sound apologetic whatsoever. “What do you think? I know the cane can be intense, but you’re doing beautifully. Can you take a little more?”

Grantaire can only manage a nod.

“Oh, good, darling, you’re so good.” Enjolras says, obviously pleased. His voice is thick and heavy, and when Grantaire looks up at him he can see the heat in his eyes. It’s a familiar expression. It means Enjolras is just as deep in this scene, watching Grantaire hurt and hurting Grantaire. He hears the audible sound of the cane swishing through the air with more force behind it than before, hears the _thwack_ of it on his skin almost before he feels it. He practically howls, eyes watering, and Enjolras graciously lets him wait until the second wave of pain passes, kissing his shoulder.

“Look at that.” Enjolras says, tracing his fingers along the mark he’s just left, making Grantaire groan. “That’ll be so pretty in the morning. What do you think? Three on each side?”

When Grantaire doesn’t answer at first, Enjolras runs his fingers through his hair and tilts his face up toward him to study his expression. “Color?”

“Green.” Grantaire says, after a moment.

“Are you sure?”

He nods again, tongue too heavy for words.

“Just five more, and I’ll give you a reward. How about that? Count them out, for me?”

Grantaire closes his eyes for the first one. Somehow he’s still not ready for it. His stomach tightens and he hisses through his teeth. “One.” He whispers.

The next one draws a pained sound from his lips, and he sucks in a shuddering breath before he can say the next number. “Two.”

Enjolras kisses his cheek and switches to his other side again.

By no means is this Enjolras’ full strength behind these swift strikes, Grantaire can not even possibly imagine what that would do to his body with this heavy cane, but it still fucking hurts, and somehow it’s worse on the other leg, anticipating it with the next number on his tongue. “Three.”

“Four,” makes him shift on his knees and grit his teeth, his t-shirt still balled up in his fists behind him. Enjolras graciously gives him a break before the last one, though at the moment Grantaire can’t tell if that’s a kindness or not.

“Thank me for it.” Enjolras whispers, leaning close. Grantaire can feel the heat of his breath on his ear and huffs out high-pitched laugh, barely managing to force the words out.

“Thank you.”

Enjolras chuckles, a low, purr-like sound, and leaves one more welt high up on Grantaire’s thigh. He drops the cane the instant Grantaire grinds out the last number, pulling Grantaire to him and praising him softly. “Fuck, Grantaire, you’re fucking perfect. You took that so well. Now let’s untie you.” 

Grantaire’s cock has long gone limp, but he definitely hasn’t forgotten his want. He whines wordlessly, and he feels Enjolras laugh more than he hears it. 

“Don’t worry. We’re not done yet.” Untying Grantaire always takes a fraction of the time it takes to tie him, but Enjolras is still careful not to let go of Grantaire the whole time he does it, making sure he only moves slowly after he’s done, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning heavily against Enjolras. “We’re not done yet, because I still haven’t made you cry.”

Grantaire does a full-body shudder despite himself, and Enjolras laughs at him again, still holding Grantaire close and running his hands soothingly through his hair and up and down his arms.

“Come on, sit up for me. I want you over the arm of the couch.”

Already Grantaire aches, and he definitely needs Enjolras’s help standing up because his legs feel like they’re made of gelatin. He’s absolutely going to hate it tomorrow but fuck if he isn’t loving it now. He’s floating somewhere above the physical sensation, but he’s also feeling it everywhere, all at once, deep in it. It’s a strange mix. Enjolras pulls one of Grantaire’s arms over his shoulders and lifts him up, and that’s definitely something Grantaire needs to remember to talk about later, because he thinks Enjolras could probably throw him around like a rag doll if he really wanted and Grantaire really, really wants. Somehow at some point Enjolras has gotten ahold of a towel which he lays over the arm of the couch before positioning Grantaire in much the same manner, and Grantaire also needs to remember that, because he totally needs to make fun of Enjolras for his theatricality, hiding so many things in the cushions just so R can’t guess what’s coming, at some point. Or something.

His train of thought is quickly interrupted by the feeling of Enjolras digging his fingers into the meat of his ass, just hard enough to make his toes curl, spreading his cheeks apart likely just to watch Grantaire squirm again. Enjolras really has a way of making sure he knows exactly how exposed he is, and how much he enjoys it, even if he won’t admit it. (He is not an exhibitionist. He refuses to be. Nonetheless…) Grantaire strains to reach a pillow and buries his moan by pressing his face into it.

Enjolras’s hands disappear for a half-second but he returns a moment later, fingers wet and cold with lube as he presses two inside Grantaire without preamble. It isn’t necessarily painful, but it makes Grantaire groan, and he has to focus on inhaling and exhaling a slow breath to relax. Graciously, or perhaps, infuriatingly, Enjolras keeps his place just as slow as before, fucking Grantaire with his fingers in slow, lazy motions. It’s just the wrong side of too much and too fucking little, and Grantaire’s legs may be shaking a bit but that certainly doesn’t stop him from pushing his hips back to meet Enjolras’ hand, wordlessly begging for more.

“What’s the matter, Grantaire? Can’t you take two fingers and keep damn well still?” Enjolras asks, a growl, leaning to bite Grantaire’s shoulder, sure to leave marks, then pulling away long enough to grip his hips and yank him back. Startled, Grantaire barely catches himself, then whines when he realizes what it is Enjolras has done: pulled back from the couch like this, his slowly filling cock hangs in the empty air, nothing to give him any friction, nothing to even accidentally thrust against. Enjolras leaves a harsher bite mark on Grantaire’s ass, presumably on a whim, and pushes his fingers into him again. “Be still. And believe me, if you come without permission I’ll match every mark on your thighs with a new one on your ass.”

Enjolras’s hand barely moves, only the drag of his knuckles giving Grantaire any stimulation, but it’s steady and insistent, and Grantaire shakes with the effort of keeping still. Enjolras whispers something affectionate and pleased that Grantaire doesn’t really hear, and apparently decides to reward him by adding a bit more lube and another finger, twisting his hand and pushing deep until he finds an angle that makes Grantaire yelp into his pillow and mercilessly keeps pressing it. Grantaire tangles his fingers in his own hair, and has to remember to breathe, moaning on every exhale. Enjolras alternates between fucking him fast and slow, waiting for the moment when Grantaire can’t help but thrust against nothing to slow down again. But even this is not a reprieve, because Enjolras strokes the head of Grantaire’s cock with just the thumb and forefinger of his other hand, relentless.

Coherent thought is not something R can manage when want and need is burning him up from inside, let alone stringing sounds together to make an audible sentence, but Enjolras’s threat is fresh enough in his mind to convince him to try. He mumbles Enjolras’s name into the pillow, gasping.

“Hm. Couldn’t hear you. Try again.” Enjolras says, laughing when Grantaire whines.

_“Motherfucker.”_

“I don’t think that’s what you said, sweetheart. Try again.”

Grantaire turns his head so he’s no longer muffled by the pillow, sucking in a shaky breath and squeezing his eyes shut. “Please.” He says, and his voice comes out an embarrassingly breathy whine. “Please, I’m going to—I need you to stop, fuck, please.”

“Let me think about that for a moment.” Enjolras says, feigning thoughtfulness, even though Grantaire stomps in frustration. His movements slow, then stop, and Grantaire lets out his breath in a huff, dizzy and overwhelmed. “No, I don’t think I want to stop. I’m having too much fun.”

 _“Enjolras.”_ Grantaire gasps, when Enjolras starts fucking his fingers into Grantaire in earnest yet again. “Please.”

“Once again, you have to be more specific.” 

“Please! Stop.” His voice comes out high and thin, and Enjolras stills. Involuntarily, Grantaire’s body clenches around him, which really only makes it worse. Enjolras clicks his tongue.

“It doesn’t really feel like you want me to stop.” He says, ignoring the other man’s howl, only his thumb moving in idle circles around the head of his cock, as if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it, as if he isn’t doing it entirely on purpose. Grantaire has never felt so feral and half-mad in his life, never so desperate in his life, never so fucking close to coming in his life. “Are you sure?”

Grantaire is simultaneously shocked and unsurprised to find that tears are beginning to prick at his eyes, and he’s certain, in that moment, that this is going to rip him apart. _“Yes!”_ He says, at the same moment the orgasm hits, drawn out only by Enjolras’s two fingers, but it’s nothing like what Grantaire wants, and he sobs into the pillow. The feeling is gone. Just gone. _Ruined._

Enjolras makes an appreciative sound, continuing to stroke Grantaire in little movements, swiping come away with his thumb. Spent, Grantaire’s knees just about give out, but Enjolras is there, kissing his way up Grantaire’s spine, gathering him into his arms, and together they sink into a tangle of limbs on the floor. “Shh, it’s okay, Grantaire, you’re okay.” He says, gently consoling Grantaire even though he’s grinning. “You’re okay.”

Grantaire shakes his head stubbornly, making a face when Enjolras starts to clean him up with the towel and whimpering (quite pathetically) when the fabric makes contact with his oversensitive skin. “Don’t smile.” He says, when he can speak again. “That was mean.”

“I know.” Enjolras says, far too cheerfully, running his fingers through his hair in a comforting motion. “But…I made you cry.”

Grantaire wrinkles his nose at that, words still too difficult to properly give voice to his displeasure. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll get what you want soon enough, I think.” When Grantaire turns his head to look at him, Enjolras simply smirks, wiping a thumb across Grantaire’s wet cheek. “Mhm. Still not done yet. Didn’t I tell you what would happen if you came before I gave you permission?”

**Author's Note:**

> gotta love those italics.
> 
> this one shot takes place in a 'verse from a longer, multi-chapter fic I've been working on for a while now, so if you enjoyed this and want to unlock more backstory, come [find me on tumblr](https://gopuckurself.tumblr.com/) and bother me into finishing it.
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
